


we were young and wild and free

by bettercrazythanboring



Series: in the morning i'll make you breakfast [2]
Category: Morning Glories
Genre: 5 Times, F/M, Future Fic, Sexcapades, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-12-05 06:08:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11571960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bettercrazythanboring/pseuds/bettercrazythanboring
Summary: She keeps her eyes on him in the dusky backseat, watching every glint of a passing streetlamp echo in his intent eyes, as focused on her as hers are on him. The vein in his neck pulses something fierce; she’s itching to lay her lips right there, right next to the edge of his Adam’s apple, but she stays still. As his rapid breathing flutters the open collar of his shirt, she stays still; as his fingers tighten on her thigh, right on the cusp of her skirt, she stays still.(Or: five times the universe expected them to keep their kinky hands off each other, and five times they proved the universe wrong.)





	we were young and wild and free

**Author's Note:**

> Be the smut you want to see in the world, as Ike would say.
> 
> Takes place in the same continuity as [here's my heart, what's left of it](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2274891). In short, they're out, they've won, they've grown up into fucked up yet wholesome twentysomethings living together in New York, and they're just on the cusp of admitting that they'll probably spend the rest of their lives together — not because either of them is particularly eager to commit, but because at this point it just seems _inevitable_. They work, on more levels than either of them can possibly count, so why would they ever bother breaking up?
> 
> Originally written in 2015.
> 
> [Title.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s6TtwR2Dbjg)

**i.**

Five more blocks, she tells herself. She can make it that far. Five more blocks, and the most torturous taxi drive of her life will be over.

She keeps her eyes on him in the dusky backseat, watching every glint of a passing streetlamp echo in his intent eyes, as focused on her as hers are on him. The vein in his neck pulses something fierce; she's itching to lay her lips right there, right next to the edge of his Adam's apple, but she stays still. As his rapid breathing flutters the open collar of his shirt, she stays still; as his fingers tighten on her thigh, right on the cusp of her skirt, she stays still.

The air in the cab closes in on her, saturated with electric heat. One more block, Jade tells herself, never taking her eyes off him. Her skin buzzes with excitement; her breath comes so shallow it makes her dizzy with want. They haven't spoken a word to each other in ten minutes, as the streets whizzed by one after another, but his gaze is charged: with intention, with clarity, with _lust_. It thrills her unspeakably.

One more red light. She doesn't even know what happened, how the casual conversation after drinks with her colleagues had transformed into _this_ , but his pupils are blown, and her underwear is soaked, and despite her pacifist principles, she can't help cursing the existence of their poor driver, somehow oblivious to the explosion waiting to happen behind him. Every slight nudge of Ike's fingers against her stocking sends her eyelashes fluttering.

 _God_ , how long can a light stay red?

As the engine starts up again, Ike reaches into his pocket and pulls out a bill he barely glances at, still watching her. Her nerves jolt awake, anticipating, anticipating. "Keep the change," he mutters in the driver's general direction, stuffing the bill in some crevice or another. Before the car has even slowed, he throws open the door behind him and bolts out, tugging her along by the wrist. She can't even look where she's stepping; all she sees is him.

They weave through the crowds, rushing towards their apartment building; Ike nearly gets himself a nosebleed on the whirring glass doors.

Jade hastily grabs his elbow to slow their chaotic race down to a brisk walk in the lobby, but red-faced and stifling giggles as they both are, the doorman calls after them anyway. Ike glances back at the tall man approaching them and promptly drags Jade's hand forward; together they run the last ten yards to the elevator like mischievous children, slamming the buttons with equal fervor.

Some guy tries to enter the elevator at the last minute; Ike has absolutely no qualms about physically shoving him back.

He grins at the man's confused face while Jade catches her breath against the other mirrored wall, and then, as soon as the doors close, his mouth is on hers, stealing that very breath in rough pulls, and her hands are in his hair, yanking him closer, and he tugs her prim white blouse out from its confines within her high-waisted office skirt. She heels off her shoes, pleased that she can do it today, and peppers his lips, his ear, his neck with little bites that make him growl like a feral animal.

She relishes the sound for how it reverberates through her.

He's just wormed one hand under her blouse and the other between her legs when the door slides open some dozen floors above ground; they stumble out still intertwined, awkwardly clutching her shoes and his scarf and both of their half-disrobed suit jackets. The narrow hallway is mercifully empty—though quite frankly they'd be beyond caring even if it weren't—but the trek from the elevator to complete privacy on the very opposite end of it is a long, treacherous road full of tempting vertical surfaces and a few horizontal ones too, and even when they do eventually make it to the door of their apartment, Jade spends a good long while squeezed tightly between that surface and Ike's taut, lean body pressing right up against her as her legs wind around his hips and her fingers slip into his pants to grip his ass.

Since he's too busy having his head buried between the cups of her bra, she makes a show of reaching into his front pocket for the keys. They're not the first thing her fingers close around, and she grins as he hisses against her heated skin but releases his shaft out of mercy and then proceeds to try to open the lock next to her butt without being able to see it. The keys fall out of her hand after the first few attempts, and since neither of them have faith in Ike's ability to bend and pick them up while she is so intimately wrapped around him, he regretfully untangles their bodies (but not before seriously considering to abandon that mission altogether and fuck right there in the hall until they're both sated).

As soon as this perilous task is completed—made even harder because on top of the desire-clouded minds both of them are just the slightest bit tipsy—they tumble through the doorway without even bothering to turn the lights on, mouths fused together once more. One of them slips, or perhaps the other cannot wait any longer, but together they slide down to the floor and finally begin undressing each other in earnest.

Her nails drag over his bare chest. Her foot presses down on his bulging crotch, kneading just enough to drive him wild. He licks a long trail up from her pulsing center all the way up to the mouth he's never wanted to stop kissing since that first time she'd thrown him against a cave wall and ravaged him to save their hides.

They're both heaving and panting in the dim light from the hallway through the door neither of them had bothered to really slam shut, just about to get to the part with the moans and the groans and the screams—and perhaps that's why they don't hear the approaching footsteps until the door swings completely open and the lights click on with blinding suddenness.

A woman stands in the doorway with both hands on her hips and a grimace—which deepens as she takes takes in the sight of a half-naked Ike on all fours atop a mostly-naked Jade with startled eyes and a hand down his pants. For him, looking back at the intruder and stopping their activities for even a few seconds is a true test of willpower—and a source of great annoyance.

"The fuck are you doing in my apartment?" all three of them demand at the same time.

" _Your_ apartm—!" Ike sputters out while the woman gives an impressive scoff. "Listen here, lady, my schooling against conmanship began when I was fucking two years old, okay, and this wasn't in the book, so whatever the fuck you're smoking—I _want_ some," he declares, drawing a breath right when Jade timidly taps his upper arm.

"Dude," she whispers. "Look around."

And when he does, his eyes land not on the modern art he'd paid millions for just out of amusement for the kind of shit some people consider valuable, not on the dirty dishes they had both left in the sink that morning because by some unfortunate coincidence neither of their alarms had gone off in time, not on the ugly couch Jade had insisted they buy at a flea market because it had reminded her of home and, "Hey, pal, I left everything I've ever known to come here and live with your sorry ass, so the least you could do is give mine a decent seat among all your 'minimalism' and 'matching furniture'." (All airquotes had been scratched against his chest and punctuated by kisses in the crowded sun-soaked aisle.)

No, they land instead on several cat figurines, a wall covered in paint splatters, and two rows of bookcases filled with nonfiction.

"Ohhhh my god," Jade stammers out and promptly shoves him off her. (He continues to stare at some horror movie poster on the other wall, utterly perplexed.) "We are so sorry," she says, gesticulating, and begins to gather her clothes. "We'll get out of your hair in— We're leaving." She nudges the unmoving Ike. "I'm so sorry; what _floor_ is this?"

"Twenty-fifth," the woman replies, no longer with a grimace but without friendliness either.

Figures. "We're from the twenty-fourth," Jade says and, still only in her underwear, sheepishly tiptoes to the door with the still-sightseeing Ike in tow. "I guess we didn't, um—" She gestures to the clothes in her arms, folds her lips inward, tips of her ears glowing red. "You should _probably_ change your locks—and we'll do the same."

"The building manager is gonna listen to some _words_ about this," Ike drawls as they pass the woman.

"I'll send up a basket of muffins or something!" Jade calls over her shoulder as they race to the stairway. "Sorry!"

They run down the cold concrete steps of the stairwell with bare feet and racing hearts, articles of clothing falling off the pile every few steps. Their real hallway is less empty than the one upstairs had been—Jade's left awkwardly nodding to Mr. Jones from the second apartment to the left while Ike searches around the highly obvious tent in his gray slacks for the key that, indeed, opens more than one lock. No, the other one.

Once inside, they both instinctively glance around to see whether this _is_ the right one, and then don't even _try_ to stifle the laughter that comes.

"Jade, do you realize the brilliant burglary excuse we just stumbled upon?" he asks after a time, moving in on her with an unmistakable look in his eye.

"Yeah, because we had _so much_ room to smuggle stuff out of there in," she says, gesturing to herself at precisely the same time he unclasps the front of her bra with his teeth. She raises an eyebrow as it falls to her feet, as though that had proved her point perfectly.

He grins in that wicked way that sends tingles up her spine. "Regardless, my petty larceny enthusiast friends in the trust fund circles simply _must_ hear about this."

Pfft, right. Like he has _friends_.

Jade shoves him back until he trips over the armrest of that very same ugly couch. (For clarity's sake, it is also not the first time she has done exactly that—nor the tenth.) She climbs over him after slipping off her sodden underwear and grinds down hard against the slacks she never quite managed to fully undo. The movement leaves a damp patch behind. "Tomorrow," she declares triumphantly.

 

 

**ii.**

"Hey, where'd you put the new toothpaste?" Jade calls out from the half-opened bathroom door, still glistening from her morning shower. "Listen, I know you know we've been playing chicken with this one for like three days, but, seriously, I can't squeeze anything else out. You win, or whatever. Just tell me where to find the new tube." She taps her fingers against the doorframe, huffs through her nostrils. "Dude, I don't have all day. I _know_ we bought one."

On the opposite corner of the living room, Ike glances up from flipping something delicious-smelling in the black pan he'd bought after somehow destroying the previous three in his cooking endeavors. "Uhh… Check behind the bath bombs?" he suggests. "Also: _hah!_ Bow down before your master, Ellsworth."

"In your _dreams_ , doofus. And why the fuck would you put it in the bath shelf?" She plops back over the wet floor to rummage through the colorful contents of a cupboard she has to stand on her tiptoes to reach. Her fingers brush past his toothbrush along the way, and she has to hold back a groan at how conveniently _dry_ it is—as though he had consciously foregone basic hygiene that morning _specifically_ to win a game they hadn't even been playing.

"Uh, pretty sure this was before we _had_ one," he calls from the kitchen. "I dunno, I just stuck it in the first empty place I found."

She resists rolling her eyes—because Mom always said something about wrinkles and it's not like he could see the gesture from out there anyway. "Fine. Why the fuck would you put the bath stuff there without taking the toothpaste _out_?" she amends.

A beat passes before she hears, "Sweetie, I think that was you."

"Found it!" she announces. Then, peeking out the door again with a mouth full of peppermint foam and a brush between her teeth: "Was _not_."

"The world may never know," he mutters somberly and smirks back at her over his shoulder, hands working the spatula as though he really knew what he was doing—which she may slowly have to accept is kind of becoming the case. "You have a little something…" He gestures to his mouth innocently and grins even wider when she gives him the finger before sauntering back into the bathroom to brush her teeth in the peace of wide mirrors and a decided lack of obnoxious boyfriends.

He's cooking in his underwear again. _How_ many times has she told him nudity plus cooking equals ouch? And yet she can _still_ see the dimples of his lower back clear as day roughly every other time he's in front of a stove. (Not just _their_ stove, but _any_ stove. The IKEA incident is a particularly long story.)

At least he's wearing an apron today, she supposes—one of the frilly fifties housewife ones he'd bought for her as a mockery years ago—but it hardly seems like enough, given how much time he spends leaning against one surface or another with his nose in a recipe book and his back turned to any number of boiling and crackling fluids.

(Although, speaking of the slope of his back and all the dents and ridges therein, it'd been the first thing she'd seen upon waking this morning, when he'd decided to be an asshole and do his stretches with one foot half off the bed, in plain view of her half-opened eyes. His silhouette had been stark against the morning sun pouring into their room, and the words on her tongue had gotten lost along with her breath—and then he'd gone and left for the bathroom without even a glance at her. She'd taken her shower alone just now, and when her mind had wandered, as it always does, it had mostly wandered to all the marks she so desperately wanted to leave on that smooth, tight-stretched skin.)

She stares out at him again now, unable to help herself—at the way he grips the spatula and how that movement ripples through his muscles; at the slight hum he probably doesn't even notice he's making; at that very same bare, beauty-mark-riddled back and the delicate ass it leads to.

With pursed lips, Jade declines to put on the outfit she'd thrown on the bench and instead opts for a white towel to wrap around herself.

Her feet are bare when she walks out into the living room and heads straight for a cupboard in the left corner of the kitchen wall. Ike barely utters a greeting hum as she takes out the biggest plate she can find, but that hardly surprises her; the air is thick with the scent of spices as he works to get the taste exactly right a few feet away, completely immersed into the process.

She peeks into the pan over his shoulder—scrambled eggs. _Figures_ he'd go to this much trouble for something so pedestrian, but, hey, it's food. She carefully sets the plate next to a stack of dollar bills lying on the gray counter that separates the kitchen from the living room, and then, as easily as she'd climbed cow fences as a kid, Jade sits herself up on the counter, ass right in the middle of the unexpectedly cold plate, and taps his calf with her toe.

"Breakfast is served," she announces with as straight a face as she can manage, and when he whirls around to frown at her—how _dare_ she eat cereal when he's been slaving away here for half an hour—she makes a show of parting her naked legs until they almost align with the sides of the counter itself.

His gaze drops instantly to her core, open and inviting and only marginally tickled by the ends of the towel.

He lets out the quietest of strained whines; she watches his lips part, the very edge of his tongue held tightly between his teeth. A dash of pink begins to creep up his neck, matching the apron quite nicely, and the spatula very nearly slips out of his fingers before he clenches them in an iron grip—as much, it seems, to hold the physical object as to hold onto his control. His eyes are fixed to her, unblinking, as the seconds tick away. His breath comes out shallower than a puddle.

Finally, he clears his throat, reaches behind him, attentively turns the stove off, makes sure the spatula is well-balanced—and then drops to his knees before her. His mouth is on her still-damp thighs, peppering them with sloppy kisses, before he even gets a solid hold on her.

If his prolonged gazing hadn't poured gasoline onto the tamed flames within her, then the urgency with which his lips move against her surely would have; with every touch of tongue against flesh she stretches her legs out farther, presses herself into him as far as they'll go. The cool trail left in his wake aches and burns, and so does the only part of her hips that he seems to actively avoid kissing. Always the tease, he dances around it in circles, so close and yet never as close as she needs—until the warm summer air is ice to her skin; until tears form in her eyes from how badly she wants him; until she's a hair's distance away from begging out of him everything that can be begged and then some.

But that would be so very undignified—as would be the mewling whines that will surely escape her the moment she releases her bottom lip from the shackles of her teeth—and so she winds her stocky fingers through his sandy hair, allowing herself, for a moment, to revel in the feel of it in her palms, before pulling him closer and closer still, until he has nowhere to lay his lips but the throbbing flesh of her center.

She permits herself a shaky whine upon that first spark, when something within her unwinds and turns itself into pleasure instead of gripping need—and another when he slips a finger inside her, all tender and leisurely—but then all dignity slowly ceases to matter in the slightest, as seconds turn into minutes and the minutes tick away without relevance.

He makes a home there, between her legs, as he has countless times in the years they've spent together. Each time it feels so new, so permanent and unbreakable, as though nothing waited beyond this instant of pleasure and aching, relentless need—as though it would last forever, always so bittersweet in its never-ending balance between the two.

She feels it building in the base of her spine, the taut clenching of muscles she's never been able to locate outside of this half-crazed heat; her breath comes out sporadically now, wrapped tightly in sounds she'll vehemently deny making in an hour or two. Her eyes slam shut as liquid gold starts pooling in her abdomen; her teeth bite her lips so hard she's amazed they're not bleeding yet.

Her entire being contorts into a silent prayer stronger than any she's ever uttered in church, and her toes curl, and, finally, with a single drawn-out squeal, she comes so hard her pelvis almost punches Ike in the face.

Too used to this kind of behavior to even flinch, he continues kissing her without rest as her body jerks and trembles; when that passes and she scrambles to catch her elusive breath, he seems to go at her, if possible, even harder. (Which is, somewhere deep down, exactly what she wants— _god_ , were she in charge of these things, his mouth would instantly be declared the eighth wonder of the world.)

Few things in life bring Jade Ellsworth greater joy than holding Ike's head firmly between her legs—satisfaction all the more sweeter knowing he wouldn't leave that spot for all the gold on the planet—but eventually her hands unclench from his hair to roam over her own skin, her own hips, the breasts still covered by a half-fastened towel. They're all hers for the taking as his mouth stirs up crevices of her she'd thought long dormant, and soon enough she can feel it coming again.

She digs her fingers into the edge of the counter and fucks herself on his tongue in tune with his own rhythm; she wants to kiss him all over the mouth endlessly, eternally for this—but that would necessitate him removing that very mouth from her clit, and she can't quite think of a worse idea in the entire world at the moment; now her hands are in her own damp hair, about to tear some of it out for how close she's getting once more, and—

"E-Excuse me?" comes from somewhere behind her.

Her eyes fly open with a yelp. She twists around to look at the man standing in their doorway; along the way, she not only kicks Ike in the cheek with her knee but also knocks the plate she'd been sitting on—the things she does in the name of elaborate puns—off the counter and onto the floor, where it shatters into approximately a shitload of pieces.

(She'll never admit it for as long as she lives, but the sudden shock and danger _so close_ had made her get there _instantly_ when she'd heard the unexpected voice—so now she's trying to hide _that_ right along with her barely covered body.)

"I… have a delivery?" the guy in a baseball cap says. "Instructions said to come in if no one opened the door."

Ike's head pops over the counter immediately. "Ah, yes. Right." He shifts from sitting back on his knees to all fours, but before he can stand up, his hand slips, and he slices his left arm open on one of the plate shards. "Ow, fuck!"

"Jesus!" Jade's arms fly out instinctively to steady him. He waves them away with his other hand and a grimace, then grabs the money next to her hip and stumbles to the door, blood dripping from his fingertips.

"Here you are, good sir." He hands him the bills and puts the purchased box on a nearby shelf. "Excuse the, uh… mess," he decides at last, gesticulating—and almost succeeding to give the impression that he in any way cares about being polite. He's still wearing little but the frilly apron; his mouth is glistening with her wet. Jade tightens her hold on the towel and briefly debates hiding behind the counter altogether, shards and all. "I trust you've seen weirder?"

"Um… Not really," the delivery guy says, vaguely frowning.

Ike nods staunchly. "Hmm. Well, keep the change, then."

Something flashes in the man's eyes. "Wait, I know— You— You're Ike!"

"That _would_ be me. Do we know each other?" he asks, leaning against the open door.

"No…? No. But I'm a big fan. Uh…" He rummages through his pockets. "I've been following you—I mean your life, tabloids and such, you know—ever since you were arrested for that murder. Man, _what_ an investigation. Can I have your autograph?" he asks eagerly, holding both a pen and a napkin.

Where Jade's first instinct would be to smile and back away slowly, Ike merely shrugs and asks, "Who should I make it out to?"

He fills the whole entire napkin with various messages, always the narcissist, and then spends another two minutes chit-chatting with the _homicide enthusiast_. When the door is finally closed, Jade shifts so that her bare legs now dangle off the side of the counter closest to him.

"I forgot that delivery was coming," he says easily, inspecting his wounded arm with a grimace. "You have a very distracting—" he glances up, once-overs her long limbs "— _everything_ , you know." He says it as an accusation. (He says it as though she were not aware.)

"Mm, clearly," she says—and because she can't help herself, adds, "I'm not sure I like that guy knowing where we live."

Ike procures the subtlest of frowns; it only now seems to dawn on him that the encounter had been a tad unusual on both ends, not just his. "Well, I could easily find out his name from the company's employee list," he offers. "I suppose I could have him assassinated or something. But that just seems like going a bit overboard, don't you think?"

" _Really?_ " she deadpans with a hint of a laugh in her tone. " _Immediate murder_ isn't your go-to solution for everyday problems? Wow, and I thought I knew who I was spending my life with," she mutters with half an eyeroll.

"Har har," he says and strolls back over to her, untying his apron. "Why don't you shut that joke machine of yours and take off this pesky towel?"

"For your arm?" she asks immediately, straining her neck. "Should I call 911?"

He lets out a snort at that one. "Jesus, Jade, _no_ —so that I can finish what I started and fuck you proper."

"Oh." And now she feels silly for asking.

* * *

 

It takes them so long to make it back to the kitchen that by then, the half-seasoned eggs have gotten cold and reportedly "unsalvageable"; before Jade can even try them out for herself and prove that they're perfectly edible, Ike unceremoniously dumps them in the trash. As they're getting some cereal instead, she thinks she hears him muttering something about wasted educational opportunities and sending her a bill.

 

 

**iii.**

"Ike, for _God's sake_ , get your hand out of Jade's pants," Casey commands with an exasperated grimace that looks like it's been building for a while. Several shocked faces turn to stare at her, pausing a perfectly adequate dinner table conversation about what weather to expect in different parts of North America.

He glances up at her, all innocent and startled like he couldn't _possibly_ know about these _atrocities_ she speaks of, but the blonde glares at him long enough that eventually he clicks his tongue, eyerolls, and withdraws his outstretched arm from the woman next to him—then pointedly licks his fingers. (Hunter pales.)

Jade, however, scoffs and turns to frown at him as though _outraged_ , then grabs the offending hand and shoves it back down under the table as the others' eyebrows raise in shock, disgust, and, memorably, awe. (The latter comes from Vanessa's new boyfriend, whom they've all decided to use as a test dummy to see whether their little post-war collection of survivors can function as a normal group of friends.)

"Excuse me, but these are _my_ pants, and _I_ say what gets to be in or out them," Jade declares before sipping her mojito as though she had just revealed she was changing her internet provider. (Which, by the way, she really should; the wi-fi in their apartment has been acting up for weeks, and Ike's lost a lot of progress on some online multiplayer video game—one of the ones where everyone's a magician-knight combo and all the women have sentient boobs. She's _beyond_ ready for him to stop freaking complaining about it.)

Ike looks seconds away from sticking his tongue out at Casey, but instead of waiting for that, she hisses across the table, "You're gonna get us kicked out."

Jade glances around at the tropical-themed bar where they've decided to spend the second night of their annual three-day celebration of victory over the Academy—then to Ike's fingers, discreetly slithered under the fabric of her casual khaki shorts, hidden from prying eyes by both of their figures and the high table, in addition to the bamboo screen behind them. (All eyes but Casey's, apparently, but Casey is notorious for scrutinizing things that shouldn't be scrutinized.)

"Yeah, I really don't think so," Jade finally says. "Plus, you guys took your damn time getting here, so we kinda… you know… figured out how to pass the time." She shrugs.

"That's gross and you know it," Casey says, but without any real malice. And maybe it _is_ gross—or maybe it's just that Jade had grown up among animals who would go about their business whenever whimsy struck; maybe it's that privacy had been a scarce resource at the Academy and she doesn't see the point in pretending that she hasn't seen everybody at that table naked more than once (except Vanessa's boyfriend, although the night's still young); heck, maybe it's just that she's broken and that human norms no longer make any sense to her, feeling more like a farce than anything else. But electrified and open as she feels right now, with Ike sitting just inches away, she genuinely doesn't see the big deal.

Feeling her hesitation, Casey asks, genuinely: "Okay, is anyone at this table _not_ disturbed by them… y'know?" She gestures vaguely.

An awkward shuffling, exchanged glances of trepidation. Two hands raised, but only the ones belonging to the culprits themselves.

Casey nods, satisfied, and crosses her arms. "Majority rules, guys."

Jade glances around their table of nine and lets out a disbelieving scoff—but surrenders with a shrug. "Buncha prudes, all'a'ya," she drawls as though amused, before getting up and dragging an uncharacteristically silent Ike away by the hand. "Fine, have it your way," she calls after them and pushes him toward the bathroom. Then, pointedly: "We'll be _right back_."

"Are they gonna…?" Vanessa's boyfriend asks, eyebrows drawing together.

"You get used to it," Hunter says good-naturedly—mostly because the days of him having to _be_ used to it now number in several per year as opposed to literally always, as had been the case in the last year they'd spent at the Academy.

" _Unfortunately_ ," Casey grumbles under her breath.

On the other side of the colorful door, Jade whips up a mop from who knows where and slings it horizontally across the handle. That probably won't do much to keep anyone out, realistically speaking, but the action makes her feel like a spy movie character—and coupled with the danger of being discovered, it puts a glint in her eye wholly unlike the childish petulance that had been there a minute earlier when she turns back to Ike in the small men's bathroom and lets her gaze rake over him shamelessly.

"You were awfully quiet back there," she says and slowly unzips her shorts without taking her eyes off his for a second. The fabric falls to the floor in one fell swoop and she kicks it up to her hands just as quickly.

Ike takes a few lazy steps to her and pops open a button on the shirt she's tied up just above her navel—and then another, and another, until the swell of her embroidered bra peeks out. He lets his fingers ghost over the soft flesh there while she works on undoing his slacks, still without looking away from him for a moment. "You know how I love it when you defend me," he says moments before his lips meet hers in a slow, teasing kiss neither of them close their adventure-filled eyes for.

Then she grabs his ass and sinks her teeth into his lip simultaneously, and the switch is flipped.

He slams her against the nearest wall and shoves his hand between her legs while she attacks his mouth as though she were drowning and he were the world's only source of oxygen. Her fingers scratch over all the skin they can find, and she reaches up on her tiptoes just to have him closer, just a little closer, and then he lifts her by the thighs and sits her down on the black, shimmering countertop.

Her legs part immediately—both an invitation and a stone-cold demand—and Ike proceeds to bury his head between them for a long three minutes, enjoying the sensuality of holding her purple thong out of the way almost as much as the delicious, small keening noises coming from her, which he knows from extensive experience are muted by a very great effort on her part. Despite being a natural screamer, she can be nearly silent when she really wants to, so every one of these that slips out, however quietly, is a satisfying victory that only makes him go at her harder.

He straightens upon withdrawing and grinds against her with methodical precision while leaving a trail of kisses up her abdomen and chest in the process, but when he tries to position her for entry, she lays a palm on his chest and shakes her head, then jumps off the counter and spins on her heel so that her back aligns with his chest.

"I want to watch," she says to the face behind her in the wide mirror and bends over with a wicked grin.

* * *

 

"So," Ike says ten minutes later, as they wiggle into their seats at the large table again and Jade takes another sip of her mojito. "Have we gotten to the part where it often snows in Canada and everyone's _shocked_ yet?"

"Oh, fuck off," Hunter mutters and throws a handful of peanuts at him. Ike manages to catch two in his mouth and flashes a wolfish grin.

 

 

**iv.**

"I want to eat you out."

It takes a moment for the words to register, engrossed in this book as she is—and she's not even sure it's the first time he's said them—but then she frowns and strains her head back over the armrest of the ugly red couch in their living room which she bought from the flea market precisely _because_ it was ugly. (Mom always had terrible taste.) He appears upside down, but as far as she can tell, he's still working the pots and pans on the other side of the kitchen counter as he has been for the past half hour, not paying her any mind.

"You want to go to a restaurant?" she asks, perplexed.

He stops inspecting some vegetable or other to glance at her. "No, Jade, I—" His look sours. "I just spent an _hour_ on this dinner; what the fuck kinda quitter do you take me for?" He dips his fingers in some water and flicks it at her. She makes a face. "No, I was merely _wondering_ whether you would be _amicable_ to me having my tongue near your general vaginal area while this stew finishes cooking, but, hey, I mean, if you'd rather go to a _restaurant_ —"

"No," she says, too quickly. It's been a road fraught with peril and danger, but now Ike's cooking is one of her favorite things to consume. Not just because it tastes nice—which it _does_ —but also because it adds another layer of normalcy to their life, another layer of humanization to _him_. (After the lives they've both led, sitting down to a home-cooked meal at the end of the day is both the strangest and most wonderful thing to experience.) Plus, it's solid proof that Ike's capable of learning and growing as a human being, which is always a nice reassurance to have. You know, if the world ever runs out of condoms, or anything. "No, I don't want to go out. Duh."

"Okay, then can I eat you out or not?" Ike asks, a spatula in one hand, impatience on his lips.

"I don't know," she admits hesitantly, burrowed on the couch with her knees up, and returns her gaze to the book balanced on her stomach. "I'm kind of _really into_ this shit, to be honest." There's only two chapters left, but she has _absolutely no clue_ how it's going to end; it's kind of incredible.

He sputters. "Seriously? A _book_ over my phenomenal mouth? I am _offended_ ," he declares plainly.

"It'll only be, like, twenty minutes. Look, I don't want to wait who knows how long to see how it ends, and, no offense, but you can get _kind of_ carried away down there," she says with a glance back at him—and a sated grin, so that he knows _exactly_ how below zero offense he should take at that.

"Then don't stop reading," he offers easily.

This gets her attention. "What?"

"I eat, you read. A week of some chore of the winner's choice says you won't get to the end of that book before you stop being able to concentrate."

She barely even has to consider it. A challenge to prove Ike wrong, the opportunity to stop stocking up the dishwasher for a week, _and_ a few orgasms to top it all off? "You're on," she declares immediately and flits through the remaining pages to see how many are left while he washes his hands and checks the temperature on the stove.

" _Perfect_ ," he says when she's all splayed out on the couch, waiting for him. He plops down next to her bare feet and takes off her shorts with easy, practiced movements, then stares at her core for several moments longer than strictly necessary with an intense hunger in his eyes. It often catches her off-guard, how much he wants her, always, and she buries her nose into the book to forget about the heat that's already rushed downward from that thought alone.

He settles between her legs as he has so often before, and right at the first lick, because she's trying so hard not to think about how amazing it's going to feel, she ends up feeling it all the more. No, read, read, read, Jade… She forces the letters to jump back into focus. A sentence, and another, then a paragraph…

His lips are hot, flush against her center, and it is when she's read exactly a page that she remembers just how _good_ he's gotten at this kind of thing in recent years, and how ill-advised it'd been of her to make this bet when there's pretty much no chance in hell that she'll actually win.

Lips pursed in thought, she swallows the moan rattling on her tongue when he nails a stroke exactly right. She peeks over the top of the book to see his sandy hair bouncing with his energetic movement, and though the sight sends even more heat rushing through her, threatening her already weak resolve, it also fires up her stubbornness.

She demonstratively turns a page while staring out of focus somewhere inside it and holding back whimpers—and then, after a minute, another. He briefly stops his ministrations to frown up at her over the book after she turns the third page; she gives him her best gleefully sweet smile.

Just because the fight's already been lost doesn't mean she can't make him sweat for victory.

He yanks her hips further down the couch with worriedly drawn eyebrows and starts really going to town on her; she keeps as quiet as she can but lets expressions reign free over her face in the safety of the book's cover, eyes squeezed shut and mouth agape. She continues turning pages and he continues driving her wild with every touch and every breath, and neither of them budge until his stew is nearly burnt, until she can't hold it back any longer, until she comes with a sound so loud she wouldn't be surprised if someone called the police about it.

And though she doesn't read another sentence until after they've finished dinner two hours later, and though she's the one who ends up with grocery shopping for a week—complaining is just about the furthest thing from her mind. Unlike the game of thrones, see, when you play games like this… you win or you _win_.

 

 

**v.**

"Can you blow yourself?" she asks one late fall evening when both of them are in bed reading books in the orange glow of their bedside lamps.

She doesn't need to look at him to feel his eyebrows dent, unimpressed. "What did I do _now_?" he drawls, barely lifting his eyes from the manual of business strategy in his lap. She chuckles to herself and turns the page.

"I wasn't telling you to _go_ blow yourself—I was asking whether you _can_ ," she clarifies, some amusement in her voice.

"And what, pray tell, might have brought on this curiosity after… How many years has it been again? Math was never my strong suit." He smirks at her.

"Nearly seven, and I saw an old episode of _Shameless_ a few nights ago. It… did surprising things to me," she explains in an uncharacteristic bout of coyness. He can't help but glance at her, and when he does, her eyes meet his, glistening with hidden excitement. "Figured I'd ask."

"In that case, I have no idea," he says. "Never occurred to me to try, to be quite honest."

Jade slams her book shut with a grimace and turns sideways to face him. " _Really?_ A sex-crazed teenage boy—which I have on good, aka _my_ , authority you _absolutely_ were—and it never 'occurred' to you to check whether you could suck your own dick?" she asks, a grin flirting with her lips. "Like, not even as a passing thought?"

He wets his lips and closes his book, too. "Well, I'm not sure if you know this about me, Jade, but whenever I'm in the mood to be blown, I never really have to look far to find someone perfectly willing to do the job _for_ me." His face is brazen when he turns to smirk at her.

"Ah, right, and that would also presumably be the reason I had to practically _teach_ you how to jerk off our junior year, yes?"

If she hadn't been looking so closely, she might've missed the slight flush creeping up his neck, somewhere below the caught smile he's trying very hard not to show. "Yes, that would be that."

"Hmm." She turns back to her book, grinning inside. He follows suit and flips through the pages like a confused rabbit, because there's apparently only one person in this household who believes in using bookmarks, and it's definitely not him.

Or perhaps there's another reason for the restless, almost aimless movements, because after a few minutes of flipping through his book without bothering to take in any of the words, he sets it down in his lap again with a sigh of the long-suffering and says, "Surprising things, huh?"

"That's what I said," she agrees, and already warmth pools in her belly at the mere implication. She waits a long second, and another, and then…

"Oh, fine. Not like I have anything better to do." He sneers at the pitiful pages of the paperback before throwing it onto his nightstand and lifting his hips to shimmy out of his slacks.

She tries to hide her glee and maintain her composure, but some of it probably slips out obviously enough in the way she's on her knees within seconds, facing him and practically vibrating with anticipation. It doesn't take long for him to notice and roll his eyes, but the slowly rising crotch of his boxer briefs betrays his interest. She glides her hand out over the mound and bends down to mark his hipbones with her lips to help him along, and when he struggles to undress the rest of the way, removes his increasingly constricting underwear herself.

He's already at half mast when she grips his shaft and starts stroking it while her lips pepper his chest with warm, teasing kisses. She's not about to start sucking him and give him a fresh memory to compare this new experience to, but that doesn't mean she can't help him get as open to it as possible. He steadily thickens in her hand, abdomen quivering under her lips, and soon she's seconds away from forgetting all about this adventure and devouring him herself, so instead she makes the effort to draw back to a nice, safe distance, pulls off her shirt, and slips a hand into her own tennis shorts, breath quick and heavy.

He seems to have already forgotten why he'd gotten naked by the way he opens his eyes to frown at her sudden unwelcome absence, but it comes back to him after a beat; he rubs his face as though he couldn't believe what he's gotten himself into.

"Okay," he says, seemingly to himself. "Okay, how do I do this?"

"Lie back," she directs, because she's actually done some internet research in preparation for this possibility. "Now pull your legs up—no, not like that." With a chuckle, she crawls back over to him and props his ass up in the air with her hands, then pushes her knees forward on the bed until his back curves the right amount, supported by her thighs. (Apparently the pilates they've been doing together for the last six months really _are_ worth something.)

" _This_ is how it works? Jade, I'm practically a pretzel," he says from way down below the rest of his body. "At least put me in the oven and call it official."

"Do you want to do this or not?" she asks, because his dick is dangling inches away from his face and if he won't suck himself, she's more than ready to, but the curious, almost wistful glint in his eye has never lied to her in recorded history—unlike his words, which _have_ and _do._ (Not as often as she would've assumed upon first meeting him, but that's digressing.)

Instead of answering her, he says, "I feel ridiculous." And then: "Swear on your family cow's dishonor that this never leaves the room."

"Done," she promises immediately—and not even slightly because she's never had a cow and somehow after all this time he still has no idea how her pre-Academy life in Iowa had worked, which would be annoying if it weren't so adorable. And slowly, cautiously, he worms his arms around the knees lying on either side of his head… palms his swelling cock, and guides it to his mouth.

His tongue darts out experimentally the first time. His body vibrates sharply at the contact, and he seems to freeze for several long moments with the most peculiar pucker between his brows as he turns the sensation over in his brain. Then he slowly licks the pink curved flesh and gives it a slight suck.

"Well?" she asks, unable to refrain, after he's released it with a small pop.

He thinks for a moment before answering. "I guess  _that's_ what all this Ouroboros business is about—except, you know, less bloody and painful and philosophical or what have you," he muses and inhales sharply. "It's… strangely hot," he admits after a moment, as though he doesn't trust the words. "Especially with you there."

She bends with a small smile and leaves a trail of encouraging kisses all over his balls; he lets out a long moan. "That sounds good," she whispers against his thigh.

"Hnn… Maybe. So what do I do?" he asks after she straightens again. "How do I… you know," he says with a self-explanatory nod, "since you seem to know so much about it."

She raises an eyebrow with half a chuckle. "It's not like you've never sucked a dick before, Ike."

" _Not_ as many times as you seem to think I have," he says with a pointed finger. "And this is a very different angle, as I'm sure you'll agree."

"Well, I'm afraid I can't help you there," she declares matter-of-factly but keeps eyeing him all over with a hunger she doesn't even _attempt_ to disguise. "That's the fun part, though, isn't it? Getting to know yourself, warts and all."

"Hey, I'll have you know that I would be aware if I had warts," he declares and puts the cock back into his mouth, this time eyes rolling back into his head almost instantly.

* * *

 

Some time later, when Ike finally stretches his legs straight out with a relieved groan, audible even through all his leftover panting, Jade rolls over at his side and eyes the come on his chin with unexpected resentment. He's flushed, skin glistening in the warm glow of the lamps which illuminate the now dark room. He's absolutely beautiful— not in that way where his skin is flawless and face perfectly symmetric, but the one where the sharp edge of his cheek feels like art, and the purple of his sunken eyes matches perfectly to his quick, thin lips. Something in her aches at the sight.

"I'm kind of jealous of you right now," she muses, hand rubbing small circles on his chest. (She can feel his heart thudding up at her skin, a cherished reminder that he's still human, that they both are.)

He doesn't even bother opening his eyes, still heaving; his back lets out a crack as he stretches. "How so?"

"I can't do that," she says simply, head propped up sideways by her elbow, too overcome with envy to censor the childish whine in her voice.

"What—suck me?" he asks, lips tugging up. "You can and you have, and I _sincerely_ hope you will continue to do so in the foreseeable future."

She ignores that. Not everything is about his dick, but he already knows that. "Pretty sure that even if I were to become the most flexible person on the planet, I still couldn't eat myself out—not to any satisfying degree, at least."

He smiles and doesn't even seem to notice it when a bit of the come on his cheek drips into a corner of his mouth. "Well, then I suppose it's a good thing you have me, Jade," he says, and then, with a satisfied but definitely still starved groan, he climbs atop her to straddle her hips and stare at her bra as though his gaze alone would make it pop open.

When they connect with hers, his eyes hold vows of the rare kind he's never had any trouble keeping. "I'll eat you out enough for the both of us," he promises, and for the rest of the night, the rest of the year, the rest of their lives, so he does.

 

**Author's Note:**

> So, it's been a while.
> 
> I haven't published anything in roughly two years, but to be fair, I also haven't written anything in almost as long. What can I say, life's been a doozy; fanfiction's been pretty far down the list of priorities, especially for small fandoms (which somehow happens to be the only kind I write). Recently I've realized how much I miss writing, though, and since original stuff doesn't seem to be going much, I tentatively figured I might as well go through the folder of half-finished fics I thought had been abandoned forever and see if I can salvage anything as I get back on my rusty horse. (That folder is almost entirely Jade/Ike, surprising absolutely no one who was around me in 2015.)
> 
> Since this fic was almost entirely finished already and downright impressive in its quality - and I am not easily impressed by my own work - I thought I'd start with this one. There's another half-finished fic of this series in that folder, so maybe that'll be coming out sometime soon too. No promises, though, only possibilities.


End file.
